The Folly in Letting Go
by Beyond-BB-Birthday
Summary: Tweek is fresh out of his second stint in rehab and it's up to Craig to coax him through the last semester standing between him and his philosophy degree. Craig grapples with living with a trembling genius and they both try not to give in to their respective addictions. Craig/Tweek, Kenny/Marjorine.
1. Chapter 1

The Folly in Letting Go

Chapter 1

"I'm proud of you, Tweek," I said comfortingly, one hand on the wheel and one being held hostage between Tweek's crippling fingers in his lap. I wondered why he was nervous, but I guessed he was just being Tweek.

He shook and squeezed my hand impossibly tighter for a second. "You are? What for?"

I scoffed and stopped at a red light. I turned to face him, drinking in his wide eyes and timid expression. "You're brilliant. And you're doing great, you only have one semester left." I kissed him. "You can do it."

Tweek smiled and nodded. I brushed my boyfriend's blonde hair out of his pale face and admired his deep green eyes.

"Craig! The light's green!" he suddenly cried.

I snapped back to reality and slammed on the gas. The car lurched forward and Tweek let out a squeak. I laughed and soothed him, telling him to relax. Tweek muttered something about my horrible driving getting us killed, but I chuckled it off.

I was still worried about the party waiting at the end of this car ride. Would it be too much for him? I'd never thrown a surprise party for anyone, let alone Tweek, a shaking, fresh-off-the-wagon ball of pulsating anxiety ready to burst. A surprise party might give him a heart attack.

Hating myself for spoiling our hard work planning the party, I cautioned him before getting out of the elevator on the eighth floor to enter our shared apartment together for the first time in three weeks. "Tweek, I better warn you, we set up a surprise party. Sorry to spoil it, but –"

"A surprise party?! Oh, God, like right now? Oh, no, it's too much pressure!" he screeched, his skinny, fragile frame jerking in sudden terror.

I put my hands on his arms and his eyes locked to mine. "Relax. It's just a few people, nothing you can't handle." I took his bag from him as we entered the apartment, Tweek looking like someone had just sentenced him to walk the plank.

"Surprise!" five voices called enthusiastically. Tweek breathed slowly and managed not to freak out as he got handshakes, hugs and comforting words from Stan, Kyle, Kenny, Wendy and Butters –er, Marjorine, I supposed she was today, going by her miniskirt and makeup.

Kyle, Tweek's closest friend besides me, came over and patted him on the shoulder. "Did you do any writing while you were away?" Tweek tried not to make a face. I knew how much he hated people beating around the bush, saying he was "away" or "off sick" – only I seemed to say "in rehab."

But, he had done a lot of writing "while he was away," so he ignored Kyle's choice of words and told him about an essay he was writing for his philosophy of science class, something I'm sure Kyle would bring better conversation to than I ever could. Tweek had tried to explain countless of advanced concepts to me, but I could never quite grasp them and contribute to a real conversation about philosophy.

I watched Tweek and Kyle exchange words I'd never heard before like "empirical" and "metaphysical" and "Aristotle." Who would've ever thought back in high school that Tweek would turn out to be a philosophy genius? Obviously I'm biased, but I'm not exaggerating. He was a senior at Denver campus and he was at the top of all his classes. He was graduating in a few months – hopefully – and going on to grad school – hopefully part 2.

And I laughed to myself, a simple pizza delivery guy. I didn't mind, of course, a simpler life. I grew up in South Park for fuck sake, doesn't get much simpler. But as Kyle and Tweek continued speaking in foreign tongues about higher learning, I wondered, was I good enough for him? Kyle had always had a thing for Tweek even though we've been together going on five years now, and he was definitely more like Tweek than I was.

But luckily, he fell for me and not Kyle in high school. He says he doesn't mind that I'm not an intellectual type. "Smart people aren't stable, so they need someone who's not at smart to be stable for them," he said once. "Hey," I'd said, "so you're saying I'm stupid?" Tweek had turned bright red and scrambled to defend himself before I said I was only kidding.

And I am stable – compared to him, at least. This was his second stint in rehab since he'd started his bachelor's degree. I felt bad for enabling his drug use for a long time before convincing him to seek help, but Tweek said he didn't blame me. But then, three weeks ago, he had to go back, albeit for a shorter amount of time. He had just signed out an hour ago, and I wondered if in another six months he would return to smoking speed "just to get through this class" or "just to crank out a good term paper" which would quickly turn into "everyday, all the time." I hated seeing him in that state. That's the state he'd been in three weeks ago when first semester ended and Tweek was so depressed and high at the same time that he never got out of bed.

But I smiled at the man I loved standing a few feet away, looking better than I'd ever seen him. I stared at his short, feminine figure standing next to the fridge, talking to Marjorine. His thin arms folded sheepishly against his chest, his signature green button-up shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He was wearing my favourite pair of jeans which also happened to be his favourite pair of jeans, but they looked better on him. On me, they were skinny jeans, on him they were loose and rolled-up at the bottom. His crooked nose upheld his large, circular horn-rimmed glasses that suited his face perfectly.

"Hey, cheeseball," Stan said into my ear, snapping me out of my trance. "Quit daydreaming," he said, handing me a beer. I realized I had been staring at Tweek and ignoring all my friends for a good five minutes. "So is he good this time, you think?"

I sighed. "I really hope so. He's only got one semester left, I just hope he doesn't relapse again."

Stan nodded and took a sip of his own beer. "I dunno if I'd be able to do it, man."

I raised an eyebrow. "Do what?"

Stan straightened out his dress shirt and said, "You know, stay with someone so self-destructive."

That had never occurred to me. If anything, I worried I wasn't enough for Tweek, not that he was too much for me. "I love him," I said rather stiffly, the nasally twang I tried to control creeping out of my vocal cords. Stan put up his hands defensively, but said nothing more.

After a few half-hearted games of beer pong, everyone started getting ready to go, most citing school or work the next day as their reason to leave before midnight.

"Hey, Craig, you mind if I say goodnight to Stripey before I go?" Marjorine asked shyly as Kenny started getting his shoes on. I chuckled and agreed, showing her to my bedroom where she could spend ages playing with Stripe the guinea pig. I stayed in the kitchen to reluctantly chat with Kenny.

"You coming to the showing of my film next week, Craig?" he asked, leaning against the wall. His glasses and hipstery messenger bag reminded me that second semester was starting soon for Kenny too, as well as Kyle and Tweek. I was so glad I had never tried to do college. I would've lost my mind.

Not that Kenny wasn't insane. Rumour had it he had a split personality, but I didn't think that was true. He was just a weird guy, I figured. Kenny filled the silence with nonsense about the film he'd been working tirelessly at for weeks – nonsense I'd heard a hundred times already. But I liked watching people be passionate about things, something I never got to experience. So I let him tell me all about what the weather symbolizes and why it's shot half in black-and-white.

When he finally stopped talking, I felt relief settle in my stomach. It didn't have much time there, though. After a second, Kenny said out of the clear blue sky, "Remember when we kissed last year?"

I stammered, "Y-yeah, why?"

He shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant about the conversation. "No reason, just, y'know."

"No, I don't. What –" I was cut off when Kenny suddenly grabbed my hat from my head. "Hey, cut it out!" I growled, reaching for my stolen blue toque. As I was reaching above our heads for it (damn Kenny for being the one person taller than me on the whole planet!) he kissed me.

"Fuck off, Kenny," I said, pushing him away and grabbing my hat in the process. "You're such a slut."

The blonde scoffed. "Monogamy is the opium of the masses, Craig, don't tell me you buy into that bullshit the media feeds us."

I didn't have a chance to retort that his misquoting-poser-hippie lifestyle wasn't for me because Marjorine had just returned from my room, covered in Stripe's brown fur. All I could do was tell them goodbye and go find Tweek. I figured there wasn't any reason to bother stressing him out (about the kiss or the gross misuse of Nietzsche), so I simply sat down next to his exhausted form on the couch, finished my beer and said, "Let's go to bed."

So Tweek and I went to bed, deciding to leave cleaning up till the morning. I had been fully expecting Tweek to be too overwhelmed from the party to consider staying up another minute, but he sat at his desk writing and smoking cigarettes for almost an hour before coming to lay down next to me. "Still awake?" he whispered into my right ear.

"Of course," I whispered back into the darkness. Before I knew what was happening, I felt his skinny arms wrap around my torso. He kissed me deeply, a powerful, meaningful kiss that said, "I'm sorry I write obsessively at one in the morning." I didn't mind. It was a part of him.

As we made out, I thought briefly back an hour to when Kenny had kissed me. It wasn't my fault, right? I shouldn't feel bad. But I was still thinking about it. I was thinking about him _while_ kissing Tweek. I shook it off and started unbuttoning Tweek's green shirt.

I was already down to my underwear, so Tweek wasted no time stroking my hardening package through my boxers. I broke away from him and said with a faux smirk, "it's only been three weeks, you missed me that much?"

Tweek nodded and pulled me in for another desperate kiss. I cupped him through my/his jeans and swallowed his eager moans.

We made love for the first time in almost a month, and an hour later we lay panting, spent and exhausted on the bed. I held him close, one arm around his thin waist while I kissed him. He continued to catch his breath. "I love you, Craig," he said sexily, curling up against me. "Thanks for not giving up on me."

I kissed his head. "I'll never give up on you." But as soon as it was out of my mouth, I doubted whether it was really true, whether I could make a promise like that.

The next morning, Tweek slept in till noon. I got up at ten and had a coffee before it occurred to me to see what Tweek had been writing last night. Probably nothing I could make sense of, probably just snippets of essays and famous quotations dissected and picked apart.

"The Folly of Letting Go." I read aloud, picking up a few pages of prose. "As I emerge from rehab for the second time in my life," it began, "I can only regard the thoughts I had held to be true, the thoughts commanding me to give up, to be nonsensical folly in the face of love." God damn, he was a genius.

I went back to the bedroom where he was laying naked on his stomach. Soon, he would get up and return to school, return to his life as a genius philosopher. And I was a pizza delivery guy.

When he woke up, I shared my worries with him over toasted waffles even though it was noon: "Don't you think you're ever gonna get sick of me?"

He perked up from his plate and said, "What? Of course not! Don't be stupid." Of course not, don't be stupid, Craig.

I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what Tweek's enigmatic writings meant and wishing I was smart enough to have figured him out by now.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Is Kenny in today, Cartman?" I asked after punching in for work.

The fat man scoffed and dumped a shit load of cheese on a pizza before passing it off to Clyde, who scowled and tried to fix his mess. "Check it yourself, Craig, Christ, can't you see I'm busy?"

I just chuckled and walked away.

"God, I swear, these fucking delivery boys, am I right?" Cartman shouted so I could hear.

"Shut up, fatass," Clyde retorted for me – and for the sake of all listening.

I checked the schedule, but it was all for naught, because at that moment, Kenny walked in the front door, answering my question. "Hey," he said. I just nodded back, trying not to think about what we did the last time I'd seen him.

But the place was dead, so I was stuck talking to Kenny for a good half hour before I got a delivery. God, that guy was a weirdo; he talked for thirty minutes about different kinds of salamanders as if I gave a shit. But I guessed that being weird was his schtick, whether he was conscious of it or not. There were times when his weirdness was oddly attractive, but I was starting to believe more and more that that was actually his other personality.

I mean, objectively, yeah, Kenny's a pretty good-looking guy, in that he kind of looks like Tweek. But he wasn't really my type... Did I even have a type? I shook it off. I would never cheat anyway, I'm just not that kind of person.

I drove for a few moments with my thoughts silenced. Then, a voice in the back of my head said, "What kind of person _are_ you?"

The question surprised me so much I almost went straight through a red light. As I slammed on the brakes, I wondered, what kind of person was I?

God, questions like those get into your bones, seep into your veins and your skin until it's what you're made of head to toe. They eat you alive. And so did those six words for the entirety of my shift ruin my night. Even Kenny's not-so-subtle, not-so-normal flirting couldn't distract me from the question. Was I really the kind of person not to cheat? What did that mean I _was? _What ruined my night twice as much was the realization at 2am in my shitty car after my night of shitty work, I had no idea who I was at all. I was an empty shell.

In the door by 2:15, I wasted no time pounding back a few shots of vodka. I almost never drank vodka, but beer takes too long to drink, and I needed to be drunk immediately. I sat at the dining room table with the vodka and my thoughts and revealed the only thing I knew about myself: I was a borderline alcoholic. It wasn't the first time I'd started drinking alone at 2am after waiting to hear Tweek click off his writing lamp and pass out down the hall.

I slipped into bed at 3:30, glad to find my boyfriend fast asleep; for once, his twitchy face was still. There was something surreal about him being asleep – some part of experiencing Tweek involved the shaking and the twitching and without it, it almost looked like he was dead.

I thought about what he'd written about giving up being folly, and I hoped he believed it, I hoped he could stay sober for a long time if not forever. It had been three days and he seemed content enough. He had some new meds to back him up this time around – that's what most of his "time away" had really been for. But I still worried, because last time, last time was exactly the same. It had started out great.

The next morning, Tweek beat me, waking up at six to write down a dream and staying up. I enjoyed having the bed to myself (in only the most literal sense) for a few hours and woke up at eleven when Tweek placed a cup of coffee next to me with a post-it note on it. Aw, I thought to myself, sitting straight up and taking a sip before reading the note.

"My parents are here to check for drugs."

Oh, well, not quite as romantic as I'd been expecting. Even a drawing of a dick would've been better than this news. I heard Tweek's mother's voice in the next room and quickly hid the bong and weed I almost never used in the closet. I checked Tweek's dresser drawer, but it was thankfully clean. I got dressed and went into the living room.

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Tweak, good to see you." I said, but they ignored me like they always fucking ignored me and went right past me, into our bedroom. I rolled my eyes and drank my coffee. They emerged a few minutes later looking reluctantly apologetic.

They talked to Tweek a few more minutes and left, and Tweek had a few moments of heavy breathing into my chest before he was okay and decided to make grilled cheese. Well, I didn't see that coming, but, hey, grilled cheese. Plus it would probably cheer him up too I guess.

"At least you didn't have any drugs for them to find," I offered weakly as he fried grilled cheeses.

He gave me a look. "Of course I don't, Craig." I held my hands up defensively. "Christ, I hate them." I assumed he meant his parents. "They weren't there for me when I decided to apply to grad school, they weren't there when I went to rehab the first time, they won't help me put a dent in the ninety grand I owe in student loans and hospital bills... Oh my god, my credit card bill is due today! I'm fucked!" he started panicking.

I grabbed him by the hands and told him it would all be okay.

"How? I haven't worked a shift at Harbucks in two weeks, I have no money!" He squeezed my hands tightly.

I gave him a kiss. "Relax, okay? I got it. You just focus on graduating."

Tweek s queezed his eyes shut. "God, I need... I can't do it without – "

"Yes, you can. You've got me," I said, surprising myself. I was suddenly taking on the White Knight role when what I really was was a Court Jester. I had no plans and no answers and no ideas, and here I was, trying to be the rock to this crashing wave.

Tweek finally calmed down and had a cigarette. I didn't work and Tweek didn't have class till six at night, so we had a few beers. Drinking for the second time within twelve hours. I should be writing all this down so my future therapist will have a quick reference guide.

After a few drinks, we fooled around a bit, but Tweek insisted he would fall asleep and sleep right through class if we were to have sex in the middle of the day. I told him he was crazy, but he reminded me that he'd been up since six and went to make himself another coffee.

Tweek went to class a few hours later, and I tried getting my numerous friends to get off their lazy asses and get together. But no one was having it today, except of course, Kenny. I was reluctant to hang out with him alone, but Marjorine was working; she was a waitress at the Irish pub next to the pizza place. Weirdly enough, no one seemed to know if either the pub or the pizza place had a name. They had been a part of Denver since before signs, it seemed.

But I invited Kenny over to watch baseball, one of our few common interests. Well, we weren't really _into baseball_ as much as we were into making fun of baseball. In the most American, patriotic way possible, I swear.

"Look at that guy! Nice moustache, _Julio_. YOUR NAME IS JUST SPANISH FOR JULY!" He cried at the TV.

We laughed and moved onto the next victim of our Shakespeareanly well-crafted disses. "OOH, look who's out of face surgery for the game," I remarked, pointing to a player with an oddly-shaped nose and eyes way too far apart. "Don't forget to take your Botox injections after every inning!"

After three innings, neither of us could stand to watch baseball for another second. We flipped around the TV, but nothing was on, so Kenny took out his laptop and showed me some clips from one of his next films.

"See, I'm trying to tell the story of a poor man, right?" he said, pointing at the screen, where Kenny was a beggar in the street. I tried not to laugh. "But he's secretly a government spy!" And Kenny showed me that clip, where Kenny rips off his bum clothes and – tada! – he's got a suit now!

I checked out of the rest of his film-major nonsense but pretended to listen. I'd gotten good at that ever since Kenny had gotten into surrealist filmmaking.

"What do you think of that, Craig?"

Shit, a question. I rolled the dice instead of asking for repetition. "Yeah, sure thing."

He lit up. Awesome, score one for Craig. "Really? I didn't expect you to agree," he said. He closed his laptop and took out a video camera from his backpack. "Alright, let's get this show on the road!"

"Wait, what? What did I agree to?"

He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at me like I was a moron. "I said, 'I was thinking the next scene should be you and I making out' and you said, 'Yeah, sure thing.'"

I closed my eyes and said, "Fuck, Kenny, you are so _weird_! We're not making out and putting it your stupid movie."

Kenny scoffed. "Yeah_, I'm_ weird. Okay," he said sarcastically. "C'mon, Craig, relax, it's just for the movie. The film needs you!"

Well, that was true at least. Well, it needed a little less Kenny and a little more sanity and coherence.

He started to set up the camera on the coffee table. "Okay, no, Kenny," I said. He ignored me and finished the set-up.

"Alright! Here we go!" he said in his loud, "director" voice. He used it to control groups sometimes, but most of the time he just used it to get everyone to take two steps to the left and one step back for the perfect shot. "Okay, don't move, you're perfect right there."

"Kenny – "

He sat down next to me, and Kenny was gone, replaced with some unknown, nameless actor. "You know she means nothing, baby!" he said passionately, smoothly taking off his glasses, flinging them across the room and leaning into me. Since I definitely wasn't talking to Kenny McKormick anymore, I decided not to ruin the shot.

We kissed for a second before I couldn't stand it. I pushed him away, but Kenny seemed to think I was acting. "C'mon, babe, lighten up! I know we come from separate worlds, but that doesn't mean we can't be together!"

I almost cringed at the dialogue. I just relaxed and tried to convince myself I wasn't doing anything more than helping a friend in need. _Great_ need, given what his film looked like so far. I initiated another kiss, but Kenny quickly took control. At first, I was all too aware that I was kissing the wrong person. But as each second passed, the next one seemed to come faster and faster before we were spinning through time, forgetting the camera, forgetting we weren't supposed to be doing this.

We had still been sitting side-by-side until Kenny brought a hand up to my neck and motioned for me to lay down on the couch. His mouth was immovable from mine, his tongue bypassing my protective barrier of teeth to get to mine. My arms found Kenny's hips, his hands found my chest. And then, out of nowhere –

"Cut!" I stared at him as he seemed to hit an off-switch and turn back into Kenny the hipster film nerd, no longer Mr. Nameless, suave actor and kisser extraordinaire. And then I felt awful. But it was just for the film, right?

"So, I don't know if I'm going to be able to use this scene in my film," Kenny remarked, watching it back on the camera.

"What? Why not?"

He pointed to my hat. "Your character isn't supposed to wear hats."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the camera. "You're insane. I didn't just do that for nothing, you'll use it and you'll like it."

The blonde snickered. "Don't worry, it wasn't for nothing," he said with a wink. I frowned. "Fine, fine, maybe I can photoshop the hat out of the scene..."

I wanted to yell at him to get the fuck out of here, but at that moment, Tweek walked in the door. I checked the time – almost eight-thirty already!

"Hey Kenny, what are you doing here?" Tweek said, taking off his shoes and joining us on the couch. I turned off the camera and chucked it in Kenny's bag before Tweek could ask about it. Kenny filled the silence by ranting about his film, managing to be smart enough not to mention the part we had just worked on.

You know that feeling of deep regret you get when you've done something bad, but you know there's no going back? It was the same feeling I'd gotten when I was getting my first tattoo done by Stan in Token's treehouse when we were twelve. The feeling I called, "I've made a huge, unfixable error in judgement." And just like that tattoo of a crooked, poorly-drawn arrow on my ass will live forever, so will the poor choices I made today.

But I stuck it out for the five minutes it took Kenny to leave, and then I tried to forget all about it. But I didn't, and instead I spent the whole night justifying my actions to myself. "I was thinking of Tweek the whole time!" and "It was just acting!" played on repeat in my head for hours.

While I ate ice cream and watched reruns of _Friends_, Tweek went to write for a while, emerging every so often for coffee or for a break. He would lay with his head in my lap and ask me for each character's life story every few seconds, but I'd seen "The One Where Joey Moves Out" more times than I'd heard Tweek's adorably stupid questions, so I didn't mind.

"How was class, by the way?" I asked at the commercials, muting the TV.

He shrugged. "It was okay. It seems like everyone knows I was in rehab, though. They all stared at me and whispered about me!" I wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry about them, just worry about you."

"And you."

"No, no, don't worry about me," I insisted more out of guilt than concern. "Just Tweek."

He rolled his eyes and got up to go back to his desk in the next room. "As if I could only worry about me." He kissed me on the forehead and said that he had to get back to his term paper.

I replied, "How can you have a term paper already? Class just started!"

Tweek called back from the next room, "Class never ended!"

Typical Tweek, leaving me with some wannabe-enigmatic statement I'm sure left his mouth with an intellectual smirk.

I watched _Friends _with the mute on so I could hear the scratching of Tweek's pen, thoughts furiously leaking out if it in ink form, transforming his blank slate into lines, lines into words and words into his amazing ideas. After a while, I started thinking about how much of an ass I was for doing what I did to him, and before long it overwhelmed my senses and I took the mute off, just to replace my own inner voice with Monica's and Rachel's voices.

We went to bed early, Tweek citing exhaustion and writer's block for the reasons. We kissed goodnight, and because I didn't think I could handle any kind of intimacy, I rolled over and pretended to be out like a light. When I eventually rolled back over, Tweek was asleep.

I lied awake for an hour, thinking things over. Was I really not the kind of person to cheat? I thought it was pretty obvious that I actually was. God, what had I been thinking? And the worst part was that I couldn't stop relishing in the feeling of Kenny's body against me. It wasn't because I had feelings for him, though, right? If anything, it was simply the rush of knowing I was being bad.

Well, what's done was done. I got up for a while, just paced around the kitchen and sipped a beer. I was even emptier than last night, because at least last night I thought I knew I wasn't a cheater, and now I didn't even know that.

I returned to bed at two in the morning after three drinks, and it was just enough to lull me into a thoughtless, emotionless unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Two weeks into February, almost a month after Tweek had left rehab, he started working at Harbucks again, even though I made it clear that I would pay the rent as long as he was in school and clean. "I do some of my best writing after eight hours of making cappuccinos," he'd said, "and it's not like we couldn't use the money."

I quickly realized that Tweek was growing restless without something to take him away from his writing every now and then, and since he'd been a coffee lover since birth, he didn't mind making coffee for eight bucks an hour to fill this need. He'd many times expressed his aversion to working for a corporation like Harbucks, but he also knew it was a beggars-can't-be-chooser's situation, given the unemployment rate.

"Time to wake up," I murmured into Tweek's ear. He groggily shook me away and pulled the off-white covers over his face. "C'mon, it's almost ten, you'll be late," I said.

The blonde groaned and slowly got out of bed. I closed my eyes but I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. "What's this morning? Religion class?" I asked from the warmth of the bed as Tweek started getting dressed.

"And then English. Then after I have to work on a group project."

I scoffed. "A group project? You're twenty-three for Christ sake." He chuckled and pulled his socks on. I admired the view of a completely-naked Tweek bending over to force his left sock over his bony toes.

"Why don't you take a picture, Craig, it'll last longer," Tweek said with a faux-smug tone and without even looking back.

I laughed. "Good idea, go get your camera."

"No! I was joking!" But he turned around and saw the grin on my face and rolled his eyes affectionately knowing I was kidding too. He jumped into a pair of skinny jeans and a Green Day t-shirt. It was one of the only t-shirts he owned, always preferring long sleeves to hide both the semi-faded scars on his forearms and the tattoos on his upper arms (from his parents originally, but habits stick). But tomorrow was laundry day and there wasn't much else in the closet, I guessed.

He came over to kiss me goodbye before running out the door, half his coat buttons not done up and his hair a spiky mess.

I, too, had to get myself together for work in an hour, so I crawled out of bed and into a cup of coffee, moving slowly but surely into the shower and into my work clothes, a pair of black pants and a white t-shirt with – you guessed it! – a pizza on it. By the time I was awake enough to think, I was already tired of being alive for today and longing to go back to bed. I couldn't stand being conscious around myself.

Thankfully, Kenny and I hadn't been seeing much of each other since his "inspired" need to put us making out in his film. The only time I saw him was at group gatherings or at work, but luckily not much could happen if we were never alone. I made sure we were never alone.

But it was Saturday, and Kenny always worked Saturday.

"Hey, Craig!" he said as he walked in five seconds after me, smiling his dorky smile that made him look manic in the right lighting. "Long time no see. You've been on day shifts all week."

"Yeah, Token was off this week, he usually takes the day shifts."

Kenny nodded and punched his card. There were no deliveries, so we leaned against the cooler to wait and, unfortunately, talk. Kenny told me that he was planning on going skiing with Marjorine for spring break and wasted a good fifteen minutes of my life talking about the different kinds of skis and snowboards are popular right now. At least it was a step up from film-nerd talk and reptile-nerd talk.

After only a few runs over 5 hours, we ended up being sent home early. "Hey, we should go next door for a drink," Kenny suggested as we punched out. I racked my brain for some excuse, but at that moment, Stan stepped out of the bar to light a cigarette, and it was too late, it had officially become a group.

"Hey, guys," said Stan, shivering in the cold in just a hoodie and his red-poofball hat. "Jesus fuckballs it's cold!"

Kenny scoffed as Stan passed us both cigarettes in exchange for our company out in the cold, but I accepted so I wouldn't be submitted to being alone in a bar with Kenny. Kenny said he was quitting and went in.

"Quitting? Pfft, I quit twenty times a day."

I chuckled and smoked.

"How was work?"

"Shitty. Nobody tips when it's cold and the door's open, they just want me to fuck right off after delivering the lazy fucks their food."

Stan laughed. "Someone woke up on the bitter, cynical side of the bed this morning. Which is weird, cuz that's my side of the bed."

"What about you, you worked today, right?" I said.

He nodded. "I swear to god, if I have to make one more crappuccino I'm going to scream."

I snorted. Stan worked at Harbucks, but in the complete opposite way that Tweek did. "Find another job, then," I advised.

He took one last drag on his cigarette before stomping it out. Then he said, "Nah, I'm going back to school in the fall anyway."

"Oh, yeah, I totally forgot," I said, finding myself a little jealous that Stan had the money and the drive to go to school. "What did you apply for again?"

We went inside and headed towards Kenny. "Nursing."

"Right, right, I remember now. Have I called you gay yet?"

He snorted. "Twice."

"Here's a bonus: gaaaaay."

"Stop calling my boyfriend gay," Wendy joked as we sat down with her and Kenny.

I thanked her as she pushed a beer towards each of us. "Sorry, I didn't know you were still covering for him," I retorted.

Wendy stuck out her tongue and said, "Craig, you're homophobic."

"Well," I replied, taking a sip of beer, "You know, the homophobes are often the ones who are secretly gay themselves." Wendy and Stan burst into laughter. We kept talking and joking until Marjorine came with a round of drinks and we asked her how her day had been.

"Oh, well I just started an hour ago," she replied, twisting her shoulder-length blonde hair as she spoke. After a few moments, the conversation turned to me. "Where's Tweek?" Marjorine asked.

I informed everyone that Tweek was in class. Wendy frowned and and said, "Really? He wasn't in English this afternoon." I recalled Tweek mentioning an English class today (I could barely keep them straight, he was taking so many courses) but I couldn't think of any reason he'd skip, unless he had a sudden bout of anxiety.

I tried to push it out of my mind, but the rest of the night, I wondered about it. In fact, for the rest of the night, I found myself thinking about everything except having fun with my friends. I drank double what everyone else did and wore a fake smile all night.

I came home drunk at eleven. Tweek was in bed but not yet asleep. I sat down next to his thin form under the blankets and pet his hair.

"Hey, Craig," Tweek murmured. Even in my drunken state, I knew he had just been writing at that desk that he seemed to spend more time with than anyone. His eyes were closed, but his overactive mind was still swimming in academia.

"Hey, baby. Wendy said you didn't go to English class," I said as clearly and non-threateningly as possible.

Tweek rolled over toward me and sighed. "Uh, yeah, I skipped," he admitted, sounding guilty, face half-buried in a pillow. "I couldn't go, I was supposed to do a presentation but I was so anxious from working with my religion group – Red said I only went to rehab to get out of doing my part of the project and she was going to get me to fail! I... I freaked out."

I leaned down and gave him a hug. "It's okay, it's okay," I said, but I went too slow and sloppy.

"A-are you drunk? I thought you were at work!"

"We left at five or six, and Stan happened to be at the bar –" I said quickly. He finally turned his face toward me and opened his eyes. His red, lidded eyes.

I didn't say anything for a second. "Anyway, what did you do all day? Were you writing?" I asked, standing up from the bed and getting undressed. But I couldn't focus on his answers, because the only thing I could think of was _holy shit Tweek is high_.

And when I did loop back into what he was saying, it was only more obvious. I was drunk, but I could still tell that he was speaking nonsense. I crawled back into bed and held his face in my hands. His eyes were too heavy to open – I recognized this phenomenon from the last time I'd seen him high, more than a month ago.

I had a sudden moment of self-identity crisis. "Am I the kind of person to confront him?" I asked myself honestly. After a moment of deep thought, I decided that I wasn't – right now. He was tired and still murmuring gibberish into the pillow. I was sure I was right, but I didn't want to do this right now. I curled up against his exhausted frame and kissed him. He kissed me back and pulled me closer, but I couldn't make love to him while he wasn't completely lucid. I just whispered that I was tired and kissed him goodnight.

But I was too anxious, and I didn't sleep a wink all night.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I must've fallen asleep without realizing it sometime in the early morning, because sometime slightly later in the early morning – 7:30, unfortunately for me – I woke up. The door clicked shut and the shower started and I knew Tweek was feeling ashamed of his relapse already – that's what the shower was for.

I could've fallen back asleep, but I knew he had class and I didn't want to leave this unaddressed until later that night. I got up, stripped off my underwear and joined him in the bathroom.

"Tweek?" I said as I opened the door, so as not to scare him.

"Craig?" he poked his wet, blonde head out of the shower. He blushed when he saw I was naked, but giggled and invited me in.

The shower was small, but so was Tweek, so it did fit us both. "Look, Tweek," I said as I stepped in, "About last night – I..." he froze. "I know you were high."

He laughed. Oh, good, I thought, it's all a misunderstanding. "No," he said, "I had a couple vodka and Redbulls at the bar on campus to calm me down, but then I was too drunk to get home, so I drank a bunch of coffees, and then when I got home, I was really high on caffeine, but then I crashed right before you got home." I stared at his wet face, oddly steady and convincing. His story had contained a lot of details, he could be lying... No, I had to trust him. I _did_ trust him.

"Oh, well, okay then, I'm sorry." He just nodded and proceeded to shampoo his hair. Once we were both clean, Tweek roped me into a quickie before he would have to leave for the day and leave me all alone with nothing to do. You can see how he roped me in.

He boldly pushed me against the glass shower door, making it obvious how horny he was. His tongue met mine and his hands set to work.

The entire time we made love there in the shower, I couldn't help wonder if Tweek had suddenly become a great liar, or if I really was just drunk and paranoid last night. I wanted to believe him, but I knew what I'd seen.

By the time we finished "showering," Tweek was five minutes late for class, so he left in a rush. Once he was out the door, I decided to prove myself wrong, searching the apartment high and low for drugs. The entire time, my mind wandered to questions of what it all meant. Was I really this mistrusting of him? I guessed I was.

I started by looking through his old hiding spots, though he rarely recycled spots once I'd discovered them. Not under the bed, in the medicine cabinet, hidden in pill bottles or lazily left in the open. Nothing in the kitchen or living room. Not in the closet, in his drawers or anywhere in the bathroom. I even checked in Stripe's cage.

I took a break to get a coffee and several aspirin – I was a bit more hungover than I wanted to admit. Sitting at the kitchen table above my mug, head in my hands, I debated whether to quit while I was behind or redouble my efforts of paranoia.

But then I thought of somewhere I hadn't looked. I went over to Tweek's desk in the alcove between the living room and the bedroom. His laptop usually sat in the middle of the white wooden desk, but he'd taken it to school. Paper, some blank, some covered in philosophy notes littered every square inch of its surface. Most importantly, it was Tweek's most sacred space, and here I was, about to dig through its drawers because I was convinced I was being lied to.

I jerked open the ornate, wooden drawer on the front. My heart sank when I saw a ball of tin foil and a lighter. It hadn't been paranoia after all.

I sat down. After a second of gathering myself, I looked further back into the desk drawer, where, sure enough, his pipe could be seen. The green one, the one he'd said he'd thrown in the river a month ago.

For some reason, the person I texted first wasn't Tweek or even Stan, but Kenny. I told him exactly what happened and waited, staring at the contents of my boyfriend's drawer. Kenny replied: "I'll come over." I should've told him no, but I didn't.

I was numb and dead the entire ten minutes I waited there. What should I do? What would Craig do in this situation? I felt myself trying to transcend my existence, trying to think about it from a point of view completely detached from myself. I wanted to know the objective, right thing to do, though I knew there likely wasn't one.

And I wanted detachment from fault, too. For some reason, my jumbled mind had me convinced that this was my fault. That, somehow, if I had believed what he told me in the shower and not gone looking to prove him a liar, that he wouldn't be one. I wondered if, in some alternate universe where Craig didn't go looking for Tweek's speed, it wouldn't have been there to find in the first place.

The buzzer buzzed and I had to get up. I went to the door and hit the button to let Kenny in. Two minutes later, he was standing in front of me looking forlorn but comforting. Wordlessly, I lead him to the desk and showed him.

"Man, he'd been doing so well," Kenny said, rubbing the back of his neck. "What are you going to do?"

I felt a chill run down my spine and I finally spoke: "I don't know."

Thankfully, he didn't push me. He seemed to sense that I was disturbed and led me into the living room to sit down.

After a few silent moments, he said, "Call him."

"Call him?"

Kenny nodded, but he didn't look sure of himself. "It's the best thing to do."

I wondered if the best thing wasn't to forget this had ever happened and try to go back to normal, but I found my fingers on the buttons of my cell phone, unconsciously punching in his number. I put it on speakerphone.

It rang and rang and rang and it was all I could do to not hang up.

But it went to voicemail and Kenny quickly ended the call before I started speaking. "Never voicemail, man." So we went back to sitting silently.

"Okay," he said after a few minutes of thinking, "he'll be back from school soon, right? We just have to have an intervention when he comes back – "

"No," I said, "that would only freak him out." I held my head in my hands and stared at our feet, mine bare and his in his signature suede hipster shoes, skinny grey jeans tucked into them. Finally, it hit me and I said, "He can't go back to rehab. He won't." I didn't know it until I'd said it, but Kenny's face told me I was 100% correct.

He had a semester left, I told myself, I couldn't do this to him. I couldn't make him go back, not now. But I also couldn't let him smoke the semester away.

Kenny put a hand on my back and said something about it all being okay, but I was tuned out.

I hadn't realized how long I'd been absorbed in my own pity until the front door cracked and Tweek came in. "Oh, hi Kenny," he said in surprise. He took off his shoes and came into the living room. "What's up?"

I stammered, "Not much, how was class?" Tweek told me a story about something that had happened in metaphysics, but I was too busy staring at the hard look on Kenny's face telling me to do it, to get it over with.

When he concluded his story, I did. "Tweek," I said, my voice nearly cracking. "I found a rock in your desk drawer. You were high."

He stopped short on his way to the bedroom to get changed. He turned around and his eyes went straight to Kenny. His face was beet red and he wouldn't look at me. "Y-yeah," he finally said, finally admitting it, "yeah, I was. But it was just once, I swear," he said pleadingly, "I was just so stressed out yesterday, I... I had to."

I didn't know what to say. I knew he was embarrassed that I'd outted him in front of Kenny, but he seemed to be trying to use Kenny to keep himself out of rehab: "Please, don't make me go back," he said, and we all knew where he meant. His eyes, large and scared, darted from me to Kenny. "I – I only have one semester left, I can't – don't – "

When we was almost in tears, Kenny said, "Tweek, it's okay. We'll think of something, okay? We don't want you to go back either."

We shared the tense air for a moment, all of us thinking, until I said, "Here. You agree, you promise not to smoke up again, and I'll..." it was out of my mouth before I knew what I was promising: "And I'll quit drinking until you graduate. In solidarity."

This seemed to calm my boyfriend down immediately. He looked into my eyes intensely. "Seriously?"

I had half-expected him to realize what it would mean for me to quit drinking and refuse, but his slightly lit-up, optimistic face told me I had to follow through. "Of course," I said, more to myself than to him, "I love you. I'd do anything for you."

He came over and hugged me, and I wondered if I could stay sober a week let alone four months.

I could do it. It was a test of love, right? To prove to myself that I could stay with him through the hard times. I thought back to what Stan said the night Tweek came back from rehab for the second time. "I couldn't do it, man. Be with someone so unstable." This was my chance to show myself that I could.

Tweek quickly admitted, once Kenny had left, that he was lying when he said it was only once. "It's been a few times. More than a few."

"You've only been home two weeks," I noted. He only nodded in shame.

We sat apart on the couch for a few moments, equally silent, my silence hard and cold, his anxious and apologetic.

When I finally spoke again, I said, "How have you gotten this good at lying to me?" my eyes bore into his as his face became impossibly more abysmal-looking. He couldn't say anything. I sighed and said, "C'mere, I'm sorry, I know it's been hard," and he reluctantly came toward me, we hugged, he murmured that he was sorry a few more times and then stood up to go get changed.

We performed the ritual of purging Tweek's stash like we'd done only weeks earlier before rehab. Tweek went to bed early and I was left to stare at my computer screen and think of anything besides the several beers in the fridge, the vodka in the cupboard, the Jack Daniels in my nightstand. The alcoholic I'd slowly and unwittingly become since high school.

At midnight, I found myself unable to focus on reading Wikipedia articles about Batman and turned to the TV. But I couldn't process anything I heard. I knew I wouldn't be able to fall asleep until at least two, and I didn't know how I would do it without breaking my vow to Tweek an hour after I'd made it.

But I remembered I had some weed left from the last time my sister had come to visit. I took the bong out on the balcony and got high for the first time in months. It wasn't my favourite vice, but it would get me through tonight.

Or so I thought. By the time I returned to the living room to watch reruns of _The Simpsons_ I was itchy for a beer again. I texted a few people to distract myself, but as my luck would have it, nobody was answering.

So I decided to try to get to sleep early. After all, the only reason I was up so late was usually to get drunk or to work, and I was currently doing neither.

I crawled into bed next to Tweek. I had just put a hand on his hip when my phone buzzed. I groaned, rolled over and saw a text from Kenny. "_want to come over?"_

I rolled my eyes and typed back quickly, "_what's that supposed to mean?_"

Fuming while I waited for him to respond, I noticed Tweek had stirred. "Go back to sleep, babe," I whispered. He smiled, still half-asleep, and snuggled against me. A second later, he was out cold, and Kenny had replied.

"_whatever you want it to mean_"

My heart pounded. I wasn't sure if it the sudden rush of adrenaline was from the weed or something else, but thankfully my brain was still relatively planted in reality.

"_after what happened today you want me to cheat on him? and what about marjorine in all this? look, it can't happen again."_

I turned my phone off completely, rolled over to face Tweek, and tried to fall asleep. Miraculously enough, I was out within minutes.

I woke up after Tweek had left for class. I would've tried to get him to stay home today if I hadn't slept through his waking up.

Only when I checked my phone did I remember the conversation I'd had with Kenny half-stoned last night. He'd sent three texts after I'd gone to sleep: "_marjorine doesn't give a shit, craig, she fucks guys from work all the time._" A minute later: "_i know it's not fair to tweek but i wouldn't suggest it if i didn't want it so bad, and besides, what he doesn't know can't hurt him." _I cringed. This was bad. Ten minutes later: "_fine. see you at work tomorrow."_

I had the day shift today, so I was nearly done working by the time Kenny showed up at five. But as soon as we were both there, he asked me to come out back to talk. I wasn't up for a delivery for ten minutes, so I reluctantly agreed and followed the blonde out the back of the restaurant to the alley.

"Look," he said, pushing his glasses up his crooked nose. "I shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry. It was just a – an impulse. It was stupid."

He was tripping all over himself, blushing uncharacteristically and not looking at me. The only other time I'd seen him so self-conscious was when Token had "accidentally" called him a faggot over the announcements in tenth grade. I tried to comfort him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Don't, it's okay." His eyes finally met mine and I realized we were definitely within kissing range. I lingered, thinking, a little too long, and Kenny took advantage of the moment of hesitation. He leaned in to kiss me, and I didn't stop him.

As soon as our lips met, I realized that it was never weed that was going to replace drinking, it would be this. The adrenaline coursing through me, the rawness of the inside of Kenny's mouth when I was used to Tweek's timid softness. I was an addict to the core, and I was addicted to the strange and foreign, which this certainly was. Kenny's muscular torso against mine instead of Tweek's thin frame. I sought the new and unfamiliar, and I found it in his rough aggression in lieu of Tweek's passive submission that I still loved all the same, but which just wasn't new.

And the second we broke apart, I hated myself, as I should've. I'd been sober one day and already I'd cheated on the boyfriend I so desperately wanted to help.

To drown out the guilt, I kissed him again, harder, and let him push me against the brick wall as his tongue and mine danced. Not a single thought of how we should've been working crossed our minds. The sharp bricks dug into my spine, but I didn't care. Kenny slid a hand up my shirt and around my back, pulling me closer. He eventually relocated his hand down my jeans to cup my ass, and I snapped back to reality for a moment. "Shit, stop," I said, gently pushing him away a few inches. He looked almost hurt. "I – I have a delivery soon," I said quickly, heading toward the door back inside.

He grabbed my arm and called my bluff. "Are we really going to just try and be friends? We both want this, and Tweek doesn't need to know right now."

I shook my head, not believing what he was asking me to do. "You think lying to him is going to make it okay?"

"We're all addicts, Craig. If you did tell him, he'd probably understand."

I knew I was biased, just looking for a reason to accept his premise, but I saw the truth in it. Tweek knew that addiction was nearly impossible to shake. He might even forgive me...

Before I knew it, we were kissing again, Kenny inching me back toward his car.

"No," I said, pushing him away again, "N-not right now. I... I have to think."

And with that, I retreated back to the pizzeria, not letting his calls of protest stop me. I had already taken it much too far, it couldn't go any further. I focused only on work for the hours that followed, until I was finally sent home at seven. I didn't say a word to Kenny the rest of the night.

Tweek was back when I got home. I found myself unable to look him in the eye after making out with Kenny just hours earlier. I remembered telling myself that I wasn't the kind of person to cheat and nearly laughed at how wrong I'd been.

"Hey," he said when I came in the door. I said "hi" and all but ran to the bathroom. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, but it didn't help. I still hated myself.

"How was work?" Tweek asked when I emerged, sitting on the couch with his laptop. I noticed several empty packs of cigarettes and cups of coffee littered around the coffee table, and when I finally saw his expression, I knew it had been a hard day for him.

I said that work was fine even though it wasn't and sat down next to him. We talked for a while and I ignored the several texts Kenny sent me throughout the night.

I lied awake until the early hours of the morning and wished I could've drowned out my inner voice with a drink, but I couldn't. If Tweek could put his addiction to bed (and he promised that he was clean, and I believed him) then I could, too. I only hoped I'd be able to do so without resorting to cheating again. I stared at Tweek's small form beside me and told myself that it would be folly to let him go.


End file.
